Shadowstalker: Chapter One
by Bri
Summary: Duo and Quatre are assigned a mission, but their ideas on how to accomplish it don't quite agree.


"Shadowstalker, part one."  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Feedback, please! :) This is part one of an unspecified amount; I'm working on the rest. However, I doubt it's going to be that long. And yes, I will FINISH this one. :) Feedback always appreciated!  
  
By the way, I'm looking for a beta reader--not so much for grammar and spelling, but characterization and plot. If you're interested and you've had some experience with GW writers before, please email me at cavall@home.com and I'll get back to you really quickly.  
  
This story is dedicated to Kait, Ayano, and Nate--for getting me into Gundam Wing in the first place, and for being better friends & more wonderful people than they ever had to be. :)  
  
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An apparaition stood before him, black as death.  
  
Finely-threaded strands of silver ran through the sleeves of the elegant onyx jacket, a coarsely woven ochre shirt barely showing in the minister's collar. Dark leggings framed his muscular calves, leading down to glinting pointed boots. The clothing was accentuated--no, showed up--by the aristocratically pointed nose over full lips, topped by two impudently glimmering violet eyes. Chestnut hair, like so many strands of mahogany glory, gathered themselves into a woven tail that draped down his back, finally ending at the knees.  
  
Duo Maxwell raised two sharply curved eyebrows at his companion. "So, Trowa, pal, how do I look?" he asked, loading silver-plated daggers into his concealed wrist sheaths.   
  
The acrobat reclined a bit more in his overstuffed armchair. "Shinigami," he said flatly as his dark-green gaze was captured by the crackling fire. Trowa Barton didn't enjoy watching his friend suit up to die. "You should let Heero do this. Or Wufei. Or me! You and Quatre, Quatre especially, need to get more experience before-"  
  
Duo's eyes hardened into flint. "Before we attempt to do something ourselves instead of watching all you run off and risk yourselves?" He tossed his head with outright agitation, eyes no longer flint but as sharply shining as his daggers. "We can handle this, as much as you can handle this, just as much as you can handle the trapeeze - and now you know how we feel, Quatre and me, when Heero goes running off for some stupid daredevil stunt, or you'n Wufei are-" He abruptly stopped, sardonically smiling at himself. "Sorry, pal, didn't mean to get all preachy on ya."  
  
"Well, you're dressed for it." Trowa indicated Duo's collar with a crooked finger. As the long-haired pilot's cheeks tinted pink, Trowa sighed wearily. It was the sound of one who hadn't gotten any rest for days, his mind fixated on one idea so firmly that it cannot disengage, even for sleep.  
  
As Duo's embarrassment (and cheeks) paled, the silence built up between them. He began to notice Trowa's agitation in the tense muscles, the tic in the corner of his visible eye going on hyperdrive.   
  
"There's something wrong," Duo said gently, dropping into a cross-legged position in front of the flickering hues of the fire & neatly intercepting the other pilot's gaze. Trowa hardly seemed to notice; he gazed far past Duo's coaxing amethyst eyes.  
  
He played with his long braid absently, threading it through his fingers and swinging it around. "It's about Quatre, isn't it," Duo mused with a half-grin. When Trowa winced away, he knew he had stumbled upon the center of the maelstrom. "You're worried about him. C'mon, man, you can tell me. Who'm I gonna tell, Wufei?" He chuckled warmly, coiling his braid in a circle.  
  
Trowa's forest-green eyes seemed overgrown with secrets. He supported his tired head with one trembling hand, brushing back his unruly hair and giving an all-too-rare glimpse of his full face. "Yeah. I... I'm worried he won't come back. I'm worried about what I might do if he doesn't return." He paused, kicking the footrest of the chair, then concluded thoughtfully, "I think I'd break apart."  
  
"Most of us would without 'im here." Duo reached for the ceiling, stretching out like a feline. Trowa shuddered as he heard an audible snap of muscles and tension releasing. "I hope he's up for it. I mean, I love the kid, okay, but he's not much-"  
  
A whirling object flung itself towards him, circling over and over itself. The weapon almost shaved an inch off Duo's pert nose on its perilous course into the wall, embedding itself up to its decorated hilt. Duo stared at the weapon dumbly.  
  
It was a small throwing scythe. His personal trademark.  
  
Both pilots whipped around in the same instant to face the doorway.  
  
Poised on the threshold was a wisp of a young man, sunkissed locks of hair falling around an ivory face. Pink lips pursued, then widened in a mischievious smile as two pools of sparkling sapphire danced below arched brows. The face of an innocent angel. Who happened to have three more silver scythes dangling from his belt.  
  
Quatre Raberba Winner winked one guileless eye at the dumfounded Duo as he leaned against the doorframe. "I know I'm never going to be much of an assassin, but I do believe you can depend on me to cover our backs, hmm?"   
  
He glanced around the room quickly, but did a double-take when he spotted the third pilot curled up in one of the blue armchairs facing the fireplace. "Oh, hello Trowa!" he chirped, then turned once more to his chestnut-haired friend. "You... CAN depend on me, right?" His voice wavered.  
  
"I'd say." Duo gulped, still fixated on the glimmering scythes on Quatre's belt. "When'd you get those?" he asked curiously, shifting his position to absorb more heat.  
  
The blonde-haired pilot grinned widely. "They're your Christmas gift," he said gleefully, removing the toolbelt from which the weapons were hanging and discarding them on the ground before Duo. "Okay, two weeks early, but I thought they might come in handy tonight... three o'clock tomorrow morning... whatever."  
  
Duo gaped. "For me?! Oh, Quatre, you really didn't need to--"  
  
The Arabian pilot put a finger to his lips, his grin extending to show pearly teeth as he slipped into the livingroom. Trowa blinked wildly as he realized what Quatre was wearing. *He looks like a Heero clone,* he observed unhappily.  
  
Pointed boots, identical to Duo's in all but the small gold buckle on the side, made hardly the noise of a mouse's tread on the hardwood floor. Where the folded-over tops of the boots ended, tight charcoal pants began. With pockets at three points on the finely-woven material, they could easily be categorized by the old Earth term "cargo pants".   
  
Trowa noted with a glimmer of amusement that the blonde-haired boy had indeed borrowed his ebony turtleneck as he had tentatively requested yesterday. The sleeves extended a few inches past the tips of Quatre's fingernails, and the neck rose almost to his chin. However, it rippled as he moved, showing off the muscles he was beginning to develop. They weren't as well-defined as Duo's, but they were there all the same.   
  
And then there were the weapons.   
  
Trowa's good mood inexorably faded as he began to notice the holsters containing pistols at Quatre's ankles, a machine gun strapped securely to his back, a small pouch that was identical to the one Heero used to carry small bombs and detonation devices at his waist. He resecured his raven toolbelt as he moved, running a light hand over the assortment of daggers and lockpicks.   
  
The gentle kindness that Quatre radiated, that he almost beamed with, was in stark contrast to the death he wore in every possible way.  
  
The blonde pilot dropped bonelessly next to Duo. His brow furrowed as he yanked the still-quivering scythe out of the plaster. Quatre flinched at the gash in the otherwise impeccably painted wall. "Baka, baka, baka," he muttered to himself, nimble fingers tracing the hole he had made. "Had to go and show off, didn't you, Quatre? Oh, Father would be furious if he was still here..." He stared at the wall with too-bright eyes.  
  
A hand grasped his shoulder reassuringly, but it didn't have Duo's vise-like grip. "We'll fix it while you're gone," Trowa promised softly as Quatre visibly relaxed at his friend's touch. "You can see it--when you come back," he said falteringly.  
  
"If we come back, you mean," Duo said darkly, a wicked grin invading his handsome features. "So, Quatre-kid, what's the game plan for tonight, huh?" he asked in a lightning change of mood.  
  
"Hold on." The platinum-haired young man fumbled in one of his smaller pockets as Trowa backed off a few feet. Quatre withdrew a folded square, opening it quickly to reveal a waterproof map. "This is the factory we're destroying. I made this map from memory-a year ago Father took me to tour it. Back when it wasn't Oz-controlled," he added with a grimace.  
  
"Why exactly are you storming the place?" Trowa interjected quietly, lacing his fingers together to make a cradle for his chin. His forest-green eyes shone keenly with concern and reserve. "Frankly, I've never heard of the place; it can't be that much of a threat to risk you two--"  
  
"It's more than that much of a threat," Duo said, his tone serious for the first time all night. "They're working on new technology, apparently. Their plan is to drill a hole to the Earth's molten core, inject a few nukes, and run off into space, the bastards." His violet eyes flashed with ill-concealed rage. "I guess that since we're here--the Gundam pilots, that is--humanity as a whole has become a liability. They'd rather kill everyone to get to us."  
  
"And this factory is what's producing the drilling equipment they're going to need." Quatre followed up Duo's train of thought neatly. "We get rid of the technology, and maybe they'll figure it's too much work to rebuild, and give up the plan," he finished hopefully.  
  
Duo's gaze hardened even more. "Not likely. I'm all for blowing the place to bits, engineers and all those other assholes included. Get rid of it all, and then they won't have any reason to try again--"  
  
"No! We are not wasting innocent lives here, Duo! Can't you understand that? More people do not have to die!" Quatre's keen stare was too much for the American to bear. Silently, the other boy bowed his head. Quatre sighed. "I've seen too much death already," he said brokenly. "I don't need to see any more."  
  
Silence pervaded the room until the mood finally broke.  
  
"So, where do we get in? And how?" Duo asked, studying the map intently. His wide eyes twinkled with mirth as he glanced at Quatre. "Please tell me we get to use some of this awesome new stuff Heero got us, c'mon Quatre, pleeaase..."   
  
Quatre laughed at the sight of Duo acting so much like a dog begging for a treat. Trowa was relieved to see the rest of his friend's grief fleeing him like a cast-off cloak. "Sure, Duo, if you want. What do you have in mind?"  
  
"Well, I was thinking, here..." The two teenagers were quickly engrossed in their plans, not noticing Trowa watching their every move.  
  
--to be cont.-- 


End file.
